Matter enough out of this Shallow to keep Prince Henry in continual Laughter, the wearing out of fix Fashions, which is four Terms, or two Actions, and he fhall laugh with Intervallums. O, it is much that a Lie with a flight Oath, and a Jeft with a fad Brow, will do with a Fellow that never had the Ache in his Shoulders. O you fhall fee him laugh, 'till his Face be like a wet Cloak ill laid up.

Shal. Sir John.

Fal. I come, Mafter Shallow; I come, Mafter Shallow.

SCENE II.

[Exeunt.

Enter the Earl of Warwick and the Lord Chief Justice.

War. How now, my Lord Chief Juftice, whither away? Ch. Juft. How doth the King?

War. Exceeding well: His Cares

Are now all ended.

Ch. Juft. I hope not dead.

War. He's walk'd the way

of Nature,

And, to our Purposes, he lives no more.

Ch. Juft. I would his Majefty had call'd me with him. The Service that I truly did his Life

Hath left me open to all Injuries.

War. Indeed I think the young King loves you not.
Ch. Fuft. I know he doth not, and do arm my felf
To welcome the condition of the Time,

Which cannot look more hideously upon me,
Than I have drawn it in my fantafie.

Enter Lord John of Lancafter, Gloucester and Clarence,
War. Here come the heavy Iffue of dead Harry:

O, that the living Harry had the Temper

Of him, the worst of these three Gentlemen:
How many Nobles then should hold their Places,
That muft ftrike fail to Spirits of vile fort?
Ch. Juft. Alas, I fear all will be over-turn'd.

Lan. Good morrow, Coufin Warwick, good morrow.
Gle. Clar. Good morrow, Cousin.

Lan.

Lan. We meet like Men that had forgot to speak.
War. We do remember; but our Argument
Is all too heavy to admit much Talk.

Lan. Well, peace be with him that hath made us heavy. Ch. Juft. Peace be with us, left we be heavier.

Glo. O, good my Lord, you have loft a Friend indeed: And, I dare fwear, you borrow not that Face

Of feeming Sorrow, it is fure your own.

Lan. Tho' no Man be affur'd what Grace to find, You ftand in coldest Expectation.

I am the forrier, would 'twere otherwise.

Cla. Well, you must now speak Sir John Falstaff fair, Which fwims against your ftream of Quality.

Ch. Juft. Sweet Princes, what I did, I did in honour, Led by th' Imperial Conduct of my Soul, And never fhall you fee that I will beg A ragged and foreftall'd Remiffion. If Troth and upright Innocency fail me, I'll to the King, my Mafter that is dead, And tell him who hath fent me after him. War. Here comes the Prince.

Enter Prince Henry.

Ch. Juft. Good morrow, and Heav'n fave your Majesty P. Henry. This new and gorgeous Garment, Majefty, Sits not fo eafie on me as you think..

Brothers, you mix your Sadness with fame. Fear;
This is the English, not the Turkish Court:
Not Amurah an Amurah fucceeds,

But Harry, Harry. Yet be fad, good Brothers,
For, to fpeak truth, it very well becomes you:
Sorrow fo Royally in you appears,
That I will deeply put the Fashion on,
And wear it in my Heart. Why then be fad,
But entertain no more of it, good Brothers,
Than a joint-burthen laid upon us all.
For me, by Heay'n, I bid you be affur'd,.
I'll be your Father and your Brother too:
Let me but bear your Love, I'll bear your Cares;
But weep that Harry's dead, and fo will I..
But Harry lives, that fhall convert thofe Tears

By number, into hours of Happiness.

Lan. &c. We hope no other from your Majefty.

P. Henry. You all look strangely on me; and you most. You are, I think, affur'd I love you not. [To the Ch. Just. Ch. Juft. I am affur'd, if I be measur❜d rightly, Your Majefty hath no juft cause to hate me.

[forget P. Henry. No! How might a Prince of my great Hopes So great Indignities you laid upon me?

What! Rate! Rebuke! and roughly fend to Prifon
Th'immediate Heir of England! Was this cafie?
May this be wafh'd in Lethe, and forgotten?
Ch. Juft. I then did ufe the Perfon of your Father;
The Image of his Power lay then in me,
And, in th' Adminiftration of his Law,
Whiles I was bufie for the Common-wealth,
Your Highnefs pleased to forget my Place,
The Majefty and Power of Law and Justice,
The Image of the King, whom I prefented,
And ftruck me in my very Seat of judgment:
Whereon, as an Offender to your Father,

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I gave bold way to my Authority,

And did commit you. If the Deed were ill,
Be you contented, wearing now the Garland,
To have a Son, fet your Decrees at naught?
Te pluck down Juftice from your awful Bench?
To trip the Courfe of Law, and blunt the Sword

That guards the peace and safety of your Perfon?
Nay, more, to fpurn at your moft Royal Image,
And mock your workings in a fecond Body?
Queftion your Royal Thoughts, make the cafe yours;
Be now the Father, and propofe a Son:
Hear your own Dignity fo much prophan'd,
See your moft dreadful Laws fo loosely flighted,
Behold your felf fo by a Son difdain'd:
And then imagine me taking your part,
And in your Power foft filencing your Son:
After this cold confiderance, fentence me;
And, as you are a King, fpeak in your State,
What I have done that misbecame my Place,
My Perfon, or my Liege's Sovereignty.

P. Henry

P. Henry. You are right Justice, and you weigh this well; Therefore ftill bear the Ballance, and the Sword: And I do with your Honours may increase, 'Till you do live to fee a Son of mine Offend you, and obey you, as I did: So fhall I live to speak my Father's words. Happy am I, that have a Man fo bold, That dares do Juftice on my proper Son; And no lefs happy having fuch a Son, That would deliver up his Greatness so Into the Hands of Juftice. You did commit me; For which I do commit into your Hand Th'unftained Sword that you have us'd to bear, With this Remembrance, that you use the fame With the like bold, juft and impartial Spirit As you have done 'gainst me. There is my Hand, You shall be as a Father to my Youth. My Voice fhall found as you do prompt mine Ear, And I will ftoop and humble my Intents To your well practis'd wife Directions. And Princes all, believe me, I beseech My Father is gone wild into his Grave, (For in his Tomb lye my Affections) And, with his Spirit, fadly I furvive, To mock the Expectations of the World: To fruftrate Prophefies, and to race out Rotten Opinion, who hath writ me down After my feeming. The tide of Blood in me Hath proudly flow'd in Vanity 'till now. Now doth it turn and ebb back to the Sea; Where it shall mingle with the state of Floods, And flow henceforth in formal Majefty. Now call we our High Court of Parliament, And let us chufe fuch Limbs of noble Counsel That the great Body of our State may go In equal rank with the best govern'd Nation; That War or Peace, or both at once, may be As things acquainted and familiar to us, In which you, Father, fhall have formoft Hand. [To Lord Chief Julice.

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you;:

Our

Our Coronation done, we will accite
(As I before remembred) all our State,
And (Heav'n configning to my good Intents)
No Prince, nor Peer, fhall have juft cause to say,
Heav'n fhorten Harry's happy Life one day.

SCENE III.

[Exeunt.

Enter Falftaff, Shallow, Silence, Bardolph, Page, and Davy. Shal. Nay, you fhall fee mine Orchard, where in an Arbor we will eat a laft Year's Pippin of my own graffing, with a Dish of Carraways, and fo forth: Come, Coufin Silence; and then to Bed.

Fal. You have here a goodly Dwelling, and a rich

Shal. Barren, barren, barren: Beggars all, Beggars all, Sir John: Marry, good Air. Spread Davy, fpread Davy: Well faid, Davy.

Fal. This Davy ferves you for good Ufes; he is your Servingman, and your Husbandman.

Shal. A good Varlet, a good Varlet, a very good Varlet, Sir John: I have drank too much Sack at Supper. A good Varlet. Now fit down, now fit down: Come, Coufin. Sil. Ah, Sirrah, quoth-a,

We shall do nothing but eat, and make good Chear, [Singing.
And praife Heav'n for the merry
Year;

When Flesh is cheap and Females dear,

And lufty Lads roam here and there;

So merrily, and ever among fo merrily, &c.

Fal. There's a merry Heart, good Mafter Silence. I'll give you health for that anon.

Shal. Good Mafter Bardolph: Some Wine, Davy.

Davy. Sweet Sir, fit; I'll be with you anon; most sweet Sir, fit. Mafter Page, fit: Good Mafter Page, fit: Proface. What you want in Meat we'll have in Drink, but you bear, the Heart's all.

Shak Be merry, Master Bardolph, and my little Soldier there, be merry.

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Sil. [Singing] Be merry, be merry, my Wife has all, For Women are Shrews, both short and tall;

'Tis